


A Grandmother's Work Is Never Done

by left_handed



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_handed/pseuds/left_handed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, died in her sleep at the dower house on a cool summer’s night. And what a relief, too. She’d been itching to move back to the Abbey ever since she left. She’d been a Dowager Countess longer than she’d been the actual Countess, but haunting the big house would be much more entertaining than, well, anything else, really.</p><p>But even the best of plans have to wait when you're needed</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grandmother's Work Is Never Done

**Author's Note:**

> _I wanted to write about ghosts, because there are so many of them now. And then I went and wrote about a character who isn't even dead yet. These things happen. Happy Halloween!_

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, died in her sleep at the dower house on a cool summer’s night. And what a relief, too. If she thought the twenties were hard to bear, the thirties were the worst. Matthew had weathered it well, the dear boy, but it had been hard to watch.

And she never thought she’d outlive Robert.

She’d been itching to move back to the Abbey ever since she left. She’d been a Dowager Countess longer than she’d been the actual Countess, but haunting the big house would be much more entertaining than, well, anything else, really.

Besides, at least from the big house she could keep her eye on the great-grandchildren. What trouble they were causing! And the music. What horrible taste children had these days. Violet wondered if the ability to walk through walls came with the ability to leave one’s ears somewhere else when one didn’t have use of them. She supposed she could try it, once she got to her destination.

Peculiar thing about ghosts; some things were easily learned and other things were not. The walls, for instance, weren’t giving her much trouble. Doors, on the other hand...she couldn’t seem to open the front door of the dower house. Frustrated, she went back to the sitting room to ring for some tea. By the time she remembered that it wouldn’t do any good - if she could pick up the bell, could she ring it? If it rang, would people hear it? If they heard it, who would see her? - she was thoroughly exhausted and decided to close her eyes for a few moments to rest.

Being dead was much more difficult than she’d imagined.

\------

She blinked and it was snowing.

How had that happened? She died in the summer. It had been a pleasant day. Matthew and Mary and their children had visited, and the youngest - what was her name again? Oh, well - had been rambunctious and not at all how young ladies should behave but she didn’t say anything and was rather proud of herself for that. Then they left and she had skipped dinner and went to sleep.

She remembered being tired. Being dead and being tired. She remembered going through walls - there was a chill that had nothing to do with being beyond the veil and more to do with empty spaces when you don’t move quickly enough. She remembered the door, the door that wouldn’t budge.

She could hear muted voices in the room. That, she thought, must be the reason she was awake. There were people here. Well, that didn’t make much sense, did it? Why would there be people in her house if, clearly, she wasn’t able to receive them? Cora must have moved here. Or maybe Edith. That was more likely. After all, she had wanted Edith to have the house when she finally came back to Downton.

She was still in the same position she'd been when she came in here to rest, after she died - on the settee in the sitting room - but outside it was snowing and there was a small fire going. She turned toward the small table as the voices became clearer. She squinted and finally noticed Edith, Mary, and Cora, who were eating biscuits and more than likely discussing Edith’s daughter.

Violet had scoffed at the idea of her granddaughters naming their children after her and had just managed to talk Mary out of it. Edith would not be moved, however, although she eventually agreed to a compromise. If Violet were perfectly honest - and why should she not be, in her condition? - Frances Violet was her favorite of her great-grandchildren. And she certainly could remember her name.

What was more, as she’d surmised, Frances was the topic of conversation. It seemed she wanted to travel to the Continent with a girlfriend from school who would be going with her parents.

_“But the political climate is just terrifying,” Edith was saying._

_“Exactly,” Mary replied. “Which is why she should go now, before it gets worse.”_

_“Edith,” Cora added before Edith could rebuff Mary’s argument, “she might not have this chance again.”_

_“Well, I never went to Europe until I was much older than sixteen!”_

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham (deceased) had always been a very smart woman. She understood the situation perfectly. She was awake now, and her family needed her. Ghosts could go anywhere, they could keep a keen eye out for danger. There were probably other things she would be capable of once she got used to this new life. Frances was going on a Grand Tour, and Violet was going to have to go with her.

As long as she could learn to ignore the music.


End file.
